Of Tears and Rain
by citysnidget
Summary: RemusTonks missing moment from HBP. When Remus and Tonks meet after an Order meeting, what will they have to say to each other? Rated T for language.


**A/N: My first Tonks/Remus fic. They're my favorite couple, but for some reason I've never written them. Very, very angsty, and some language. Constructive crit welcome.**

It's the first Order meeting since Christmas, and Tonks wishes that she could be anywhere but here.

She hates that they still meet here, in the dank, smelly interior of her great-Aunt Black's house. She dares not think of it as Sirius' house, because that brings too much pain. She hurts enough already. This place is filled with far too many memories…how many times had she sat around this table and laughed, watching her cousin glumly pick splinters from around the edges while she and his best friend exchanged lustful glances? Ironic that such a depressing place should bring happy memories, and that those happy memories should in turn make her sad.

Her only gratitude is that the kitchen of Number 12 is dark. The only light comes from the ancient, filthy torches and the occasional flash of lightning from the high windows. And she's found a place near the back corner of the crowded kitchen, to avoid the stares at her brown-haired appearance from her fellow Order members. And _he_ can't see her.

She can't see him, either, but she knows where he stands. He's at the front, on the opposite side of Tonks. She came in late on purpose just so there was no chance of her standing next to him. He's always early, unlike her.

Dumbledore finishes talking, and everyone shuffles out, leaving to brave the fearsome weather outside. Even the thundering rain is better than staying here, in this house of Dark wizards and dead friends. Pretty soon it's only the two of them left in the dirty, neglected kitchen. She's loitering on purpose, because she knows he always stays late to clean up.

"Hello, Remus," she says quietly, as he gathers papers off the table. He's gotten awfully skinny since she saw him last month, and his clothes fit him more like drapery than clothing. His skin has a grey undertone, and there are dark circles under his wolfish eyes. His formally golden brown hair is now filled with many threads of silver. He looks terrible. She tells him so, although she knows she doesn't look much better.

"It's my job," he says. "If I looked healthy, my fellows would suspect me." He looks reluctant to talk to her, as though he knows what she's trying to do, which he probably does.

"They're not your fellows, Remus. You don't belong there, among the savages. You ought to be sitting in a study, reading, or teaching in a classroom." She hates it when he degrades himself like that.

"I may be more educated than them, but for them, it wasn't an option. I am a werewolf, as are they, and that makes us equals in the eye of the law." He's trying to use logic now, which is silly. Nothing is logical in wartime.

"Yes, but in the eye of the law, Stan Shunpike is a Death Eater." Like he pays any attention to the law, anyway. Now he's just trying to make excuses.

He sighs, placing another piece of parchment into the neat pile he's made on the tabletop. "I don't feel like arguing, Tonks." Oddly, she misses how he used to call her Nymphadora. Somehow, when it came from his mouth, she didn't mind it so much.

"You think I feel like arguing, Remus? No, I'd much rather that you hadn't given me anything to argue over. But I can't go on living like this." She indicates her mousey-brown hair, lying lank and lifeless over her head. "I've never been unable to morph. I've been taken off field duty because of it. Without my morphing, I'm just a regular Class 3 Auror. I've been guarding Hogwarts, which is, well, necessary, but dull."

"I'm sorry, Tonks," he says.

"It's not that I care about _that_ that much. It's what's at the cause of it. Because I'm so bloody _sad_, Remus. Every time I smile, I remember, and it falters. I can't ever remember feeling like this, Remus. And I fucking hate it. I don't feel like myself anymore. Don't even look like myself. Because every time I'm even remotely happy, I remember that you won't have me, and it hurt. Won't you just—"

"Will you stop fucking trying to make me feel guilty, Tonks?" It's the first time she's ever heard him swear, and she jumps. He's leaning on the table, breathing heavily, his formerly neat pile of papers scattered all over the greasy, chipped wood.

She doesn't say anything for a while, just picks at her dirty nails and bites her lip. He composes himself again and begins to pick up the many pieces of parchment. After about five minutes, she speaks, quietly and cordially. "How was your Christmas, Remus?"

"As best as can be expected." He clears his throat. "How was yours? Did you go to your parents' house?"

"I was on duty," she says simply.

"Dumbledore made you work on Christmas?" He looks furious.

"No. Dawlish did." She sighs. She hates Dawlish and his bureaucratic procedures. "But if Dumbledore had made me work, it would have been no worse than anything he's made you do."

"Dumbledore didn't make me do anything. He asked me to go underground, and I accepted. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have had to."

"I know," she says, her throat choaking up. "I just…I hate seeing you like this." A single tear escapes her left eye and falls clumsily down her cheek and onto her Auror robes. "You deserve so much more than life has given you." She's crying now, a common occurrence these days. "And what fate has given you, you refuse to take." She wipes her face with her sleeve, but it doesn't help.

"I can't have you, Tonks. I can't let myself. If Greyback found out…" he shudders. "You deserve so much more than me. I'm a werewolf, I'm poor, I'm dangerous—"

"I'm an Auror, I'm fucking used to danger!" she says for the billionth time, her tears still wet on her cheeks. He's used the same lines a thousand times before, and she's answered back just as many times, and he still won't listen.

He doesn't answer. Just as before, he has nothing to say to that that won't sound sexist and stupid. She's sick of it. She can't take it anymore.

She glances at her watch. She has to report to Dawlish at 7:25 tomorrow morning, and it's half past midnight already. She gets up from the table, sighs, and gathers her stuff from the corner, putting on her pink woolen coat. "I've got to go, Remus," she says, smiling sadly at him from the doorway. He says nothing, just stares at the large pile of parchment in front of him. She blows him a kiss, and walks down the lightless hall to the door. She opens it and steps outside into the weather, closing the door carefully, so that he won't have to go quiet her great-aunt's portrait.

She just stands there for a moment, letting the rain wash away her tears. She's getting soaked but she doesn't much care. It seems so trivial in these times. With one last wistful glance at the building in front of her, she Apparates away into the darkness.


End file.
